


she's God and i found her

by hcdalcxa



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut?, F/F, Minor Clarke Griffin/Niylah, Nerd Lexa, Party Girl Griffin, Slow Burn, while things set up :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hcdalcxa/pseuds/hcdalcxa
Summary: You never expect to crash into someone who will forever change your life. It just happens.or, the one where the universe seems to be conspiring against clarke and lexa - until they realize it's been rooting for them the entire time. modern college au.





	1. monday monday monday

Clarke figured she should write a book.  _Taking An 8am Class Should Be Fine_ and Other Lies To Tell Yourself. 

She had barely rolled out of bed by 7:45, barely slid into her jeans by 7:50, and _barely_ strolled into her English 100 class by 7:59. But, really, what could her professors expect when their pupils - brand new freshman who were probably experiencing ‘independence’ for the first time in their young lives - had enrolled at what was known as _the_ biggest party school of the entire state? They were lucky the students had shown at all.

Clarke couldn’t ignore the panging in her head as she hurried to one of the few open seats left in the lecture hall, cursing herself for not finding five extra minutes to get there before the rest of her classmates had shown up. The only row that hadn’t been completely filled in was the very front where a couple students sat, straight backed and at attention with their fresh array of different colored highlighters and their brand new, straight from the manufacturer, worth-more-than-an-entire-80-hour-minimum-wage-paycheck textbooks. Just looking at them created a knot in the blonde’s stomach. Everyone knew that the front row was for the students who were ready and eager to be called on. Clarke was not one of those students.

She settled into her seat, pulling up her hoodie - _very inconspicuous, there was no way the professor would pick her out of the entire sea of students when she had her hoodie on_ \- and hoisting up the arm of the desk right as her professor was strolling in. KANE, her schedule had said - _not that she had studied her schedule very well at all. In fact, she had only really noticed the name on the coffee-stained, crumpled piece of paper when she was running around like a chicken with her head cut off, looking for the right hall this morning_. He was an average looking man in his late forties to early fifties, with a good head of hair, a strong nose, and a scruffy, salt and pepper beard. Just her mother’s type, she thought absently to herself as he turned to the board and began to scrawl in very big, very ugly block letters.

The room was set into motion as laptops were opened, papers were shuffled, and pencils and pens began gliding across pages, quickly scribbling down every word verbatim. Clarke sighed, _so_ not ready for her day to begin, as she reached into her messenger bag to retrieve a notebook and a pen. But as she fished, her fingers sifted a bunch of stuff aside to scrape the bottom of her bag, leaving her empty-handed. No pens. No pencils. As she searched more intently, she couldn't even find a damn bottle of liquid eyeliner that she could paint her way through the hour with. Absolutely nothing.

“Shit,” she mumbled under her breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Of course, this was just like her. What kind of idiot ran out the door to their first day of classes with no writing utensil? She'd probably laugh at the irony if her entire body weren't already throbbing so much. She set her bag down, her eyes immediately glancing around the hall as she surveyed her options, before they settled on the girl a seat down from her. All she could see was long, wavy brown hair tossed over a slim shoulder, and delicate hands that _click-clacked_ away against a keyboard. The last thing Clarke really wanted to be doing was getting a jump-start on her ENG100 social life at 8:01 in the morning on the first Monday of the semester, but it seemed better than the alternative, especially with the way Professor Kane seemed to be going- with half of the entire whiteboard already covered. Hope and trust that a complete stranger would have her back was her only option.

“Psst,” She hissed. The clacking continued as the brunette’s head bobbed up and down, her attention clearly focused between the whiteboard and her computer screen. Clarke wasn’t sure if she hadn’t heard her, or if she was just electing to ignore her, so she tried again, pitching her whisper a little higher. “ _Psst_!”

Really, she should’ve prepared herself for the way the world seemed to tilt when she was met by forest green eyes. _Honestly_ , liking women was starting to become a total pain in the rear, especially when they looked like _that_ . Naturally shaped, thick eyebrows - _Clarke would_ kill _for those_  - pulled low over the big, bright eyes that lit up the brunette’s entire face. They caught the light of the room just right, in a way Clarke had never experienced before - _mainly because who looked good under harsh fluorescents? No one, but somehow this chick did._ Her nose was long and narrow and delicate, with a dainty little arch to it, and it pointed directly to her plush pink lips, lips that looked to be the epitome of soft - _Clarke almost wished she could shrink to the size of an ant and just nap on them._ And this girl’s  jawline  \- _Clarke had never been into knife play, but the sharpness of the brunette’s jawline had her reconsidering._ Her skin was bright and lively, clear of any bumps or blemishes save for a small mole that camouflaged divinely into the woman’s top lip. And all of it had been hidden so artfully behind a curtain of thick, luscious hair, the kind that people had wet dreams about.

Not that Clarke was staring. In fact, because her brain had seemed to short-circuit for whatever reason right in the midst of her pencil-pursuit, the blonde had to be extremely quick about remembering exactly what she needed in the first place so that her classmate would know that she was definitely _not just staring_.

“Uh, can I borrow a pencil?”

The frown that the woman had already been sporting only seemed to grow deeper as she looked Clarke up and down with what seemed to be slight confusion. As if she were perplexed that Clarke of all people would be talking to her. After a moment, though, she huffed a sigh as confusion clearly turned to frustration, and reached for the bag at her feet.

Clarke did her best to smile through the pain - _what was this girl’s problem? It was just a pencil_  - of the woman’s obvious displeasure. It was 8:02 am, _the first Monday of the semester_ , and the last thing she needed to be doing was making enemies of her brand new classmates. Especially having come to terms with herself and with the fact that she probably wouldn’t be getting up any earlier for the rest of the semester than she had that morning, meaning she was likely going to be stuck in the first row and possibly next to this very girl for the remainder of the class.

In a panicked, last-ditch attempt at conversation before she completely devastated her relationship with the Adonis-esque girl for good, Clarke opened her big fat mouth without thought.

“It’s so stupid that they make us take these godawful core classes. I mean, it’s not like we haven’t been speaking English for most of our lives, you know? They should just let us take classes for our majors so we can be done with it.” She tried for a light-hearted, friendly chuckle but it fell flat.

As the brunette straightened, pencil in hand, the look of irritation was clear as day on her face. She extended her hand, fingers gripping the very end of the pencil, as if the very last thing she wanted to do was let Clarke touch her.

“English classes at this stage are less to do with learning the language and more to do with expanding the ability to think critically." She paused, her tone icy as she let the words sink into Clarke's hungover brain. "Clearly some of us still need it.”

Flabbergasted, Clarke felt her mouth drop open. She struggled to find the words to right the situation, but as the other girl began her click-clacking again and Professor Kane turned around to address the class, Clarke was forced to return to her notebook.

Of course, even as her body jolted into motion to copy the whiteboard and follow along with the textbook in front of her, her mind was elsewhere, namely with the sassy brunette that sat only a seat away.

 

* * *

 

Lexa really would rather do _anything_ than sit in class the first couple days of the year and have to combat any friendly faces that tried to start conversation with her. Well, almost anything. Sitting in a lecture hall with 45+ strangers that carried germs and awful opinions was somehow marginally better than sitting at home propped at a computer and hoping and praying that her “family” would allow her a smidgen of privacy, or juggling both a full time job and all-nighters to get her homework done while worrying about being moved from home to home, changing bedroom to bedroom and trading person for person-- which was the sole reason she was here at all. The state had entirely paid her way - education, room and board, three square meals a day - and rather than head right back into placement, she was determined to milk it while she could.

Still, batting way-too-friendly, way-too-curious classmates away was hardly at the top of her list of fun things to do. That went double for pretty girls. Pretty girls were her kryptonite. She was going to stay as far, far away from them as she _could._

At least, that was what she’d told herself before she’d moved onto campus. After settling in and touring the area by her lonesome the weekend before classes started, she’d quickly reached the conclusion that avoiding pretty girls altogether was going to be next to impossible, seeing as they were absolutely _everywhere_. Like some kind of trick played by God, Lexa could almost swear that the girls here were _prettier_ than the girls anywhere else she’d ever been. And maybe she was just psyching herself out, but for the first 48 hours, she couldn’t even read a book without getting distracted by them.

She’d never been so excited for classes to start in her life; at least if she were sitting in for her lectures, she would have something to keep her mind on instead of the bright smiles, the shiny hair, and the sweet-smelling perfumes of her new classmates.

Or so she’d hoped.

Her first class of the semester hadn’t even begun before she was very rudely interrupted by a low, gravelly voice that sent goosebumps up her skin. Lexa really didn’t want to look up. She wanted to continue her document, write down all the important dates for her papers this semester, and maybe even begin her first homework assignment while the rest of the class was slowly but surely nodding off. That was how these things were meant to go.

The look she gave as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and out of her way was meant to be a warning glance - _she and Anya had worked hard many-a-night on perfecting it, and Lexa had even been told she'd perfected it_ \- but she could feel her stare instantly begin to waver - _along with her heart, which had leapt into her throat, threatening to choke her_  - as she caught sight of two _brilliant_ blue eyes of which the likes Lexa had never seen, a mop of ruffled blonde hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in two days but still somehow sat just right, and perfect, perfect lips that stuttered into a very dangerous question.

Now, Lexa recognized that for most people, ‘can I borrow a pencil’ was hardly the most hazardous thing to come out of someone’s mouth. But ‘can I borrow a pencil’ meant quite a lot to _her_ \-- mainly that this wasn’t going to be a one-time encounter. Looking at the clock on the wall that was positioned just off to the right of the blonde’s head, Lexa knew that if she gave her pencil up, she was going to be expected to speak to the girl again to retrieve it in 47 minutes and 35 seconds. 34 seconds. 33…. And one pleasant encounter alone was treacherous, especially with a girl like that. A second one could prove lethal.

The decision was made quicker than she would've liked to admit - _because she didn't really make the decision. the decision made itself_ \- and the scoff she gave was really more to herself than anything as she turned to begin digging into her bag. Because _how_ could she say no?

Very quickly though, her scoff turned into a mental scolding as the raspy voice continued, clearly feeling as forced into making small talk as Lexa felt forced into giving up her very precious writing utensil-- she really didn’t have the money for a new one if the girl decided to run off with it, after all. But as Lexa continued to rifle through, the conversation topic the blonde had picked began to grow louder than the angry, bickering voices in her own head, and Lexa realized what she was yammering on about.

Surely she didn’t know that English was Lexa’s major. And surely she didn’t know what English classes had been to Lexa growing up - complete escapes from her very own hell. Privileges, rather than rights. Solace and solitude and everything Lexa could ever, ever want for - But that didn’t mean that she hadn’t struck Lexa in the one place that she was oh, so sensitive.

As she held out the pink mechanical pencil, fresh from the pack she had been eyeing all summer and only just opened this morning, the brunette could feel her face harden, steeling over with rippling irritation. And as she caught sight of the blonde again, her rage only doubled because really, she didn’t want to be seen as someone mean or rude or nasty. She just wanted to get on with her day without having to worry about the people around her getting in her way. But here she was again, begin thrown into a position where she could only come out with the role of the bitch. The frustration of being stuck in that role, _already_ having that reputation follow her to someplace where she was _supposed_ to have a fresh start was enough to put fire in her veins and ice on her tongue.

Lexa’s response was quick and striking, but even as the words came out, she knew that she could’ve done much worse to devastate the girl than the quick sass she had actually given her.

As the blonde took the pencil, Lexa could tell that she was entirely shell-shocked. But it wasn’t the implication that she had hurt her feelings that put a sting in Lexa’s eyes and a pang in her heart. It was the way the girl’s blue eyes had morphed within a millisecond from looking almost in awe of her, to completely anguished. Lexa had seen it many times before, from many different people in her life. She reminded herself as she returned to her brand new, paid-in-full-by-the-government laptop, with her eyes slowly beginning to burn with the onslaught of embarrassment and guilt, that she would see it many times in the future as well. All she could do to keep that embarrassment and guilt from eating her alive, was to push on.

And push on she would.


	2. take me anywhere

“I get it, mom.” Clarke could hear the resentment in her own voice, the same tone that afflicted almost every conversation she’d had with her mother for the past two years.

“I don’t think you do, Clarke.” Abby’s voice, on the other hand, was full of worry, and the frustration creeping in was solely a product of Clarke’s refusal to listen. Clarke knew that; still, she did nothing to soothe her mother, despite having all the power to. In fact, on some deep, subconscious level, Clarke almost enjoyed the idea that her mother was suffering like this. Maybe it was a surefire way of knowing that she cared about her daughter, her only surviving family member. Or maybe it was just peace of mind knowing that Clarke wasn’t the only one doing the suffering. Regardless for the reason, though, she was hardly sorry for it. “I just want you--”

“To succeed. I know.” They’d had this conversation before, and they’d have it again. But Clarke just couldn’t understand why her mom wouldn’t butt out for once. “I’m still pre-med, I’d just like to take some more classes.”

“But what’s the point? You taking more art classes will just derail your schedule. You’d either be there for longer, or you’d be putting more on your plate each semester.”

“I know.” It hadn’t taken long for Clarke to figure out the best method of keeping her sanity: letting Abby rant and rage while she tuned her out, only offering a vague grunt or a word or two during appropriate pauses. It had worked _wonders_ for her health over the years.

“I mean, really, the educational path is long enough as it is, and you already have to worry about exemplary grades for….” Clarke absently picked at her fingernails, just happy that her roommate was out. Not that Maya was all bad - she seemed nice enough. Maybe just not the kind of person Clarke would intentionally seek out. But that was what Clarke got for waiting so long to accept the school’s offer. Meanwhile, she could only imagine what Raven and Octavia were getting up to across campus in the main freshman building; Clarke had heard rumors that the RA's over there were doing pizza and ice cream parties. What she wouldn’t give for pizza or ice cream.

It was only the sound of the intercom on her mother’s end of the phone that shook her from her slowly intensifying hunger for grease and dairy; after spending 18 years under it, she’d become accustomed enough to the sound to be able to pick it out in her sleep if she’d had to.

“I’ve got to go, honey,” her mother’s voice came.

“Alright.” Clarke scratched her eyebrow.

“We’ll talk more about this later.”

“Okay.” Clarke readjusted her leg.

“I love you.”

“Love you.” The reply to her mother was practiced, but did it mean anything? Clarke didn't have it in her to process it enough to find out. 

As the line went dead, she felt a little more weightless, a little more relaxed. But the feeling was short-lived as she quickly remembered that though the conversation was over, it was really _hardly_ over. Without her mother’s help, Clarke would be out on her ass. She was going to have to talk to her again sooner or later if she wanted those classes.

Her sigh of frustration was drowned out by an insistent buzz from her phone as her screen lit up, Raven’s name flashing across it. Behind it was a grainy picture from the previous Halloween where the three of them posed together in front of her house; Raven had been clad in a milkmaid costume, Octavia was dressed to the nines as Wonder Woman, and Clarke, freezing her ass off, stood with feigned pride in what had been ironically called a “cozy shark” costume on Amazon. That night had been one of the better nights of her life, and nothing warmed her heart like seeing the pictures of the three girls, drunk as fuck off of stolen alcohol from her mother’s stash, beaming bright enough to blind. Well, it _would’ve_ warmed her heart if she hadn’t _just_ been on the phone with the wet blanket. Talking to her mother put her in a mood that next to nothing but a couple shots and a good bang could fix.

“What?” She groaned to Raven as she flopped dramatically onto her bed, her head nearly colliding with the wall. For a moment, all she could hear was giggling (Octavia) and screaming (Raven) on the other end as there was a clear struggle for power. This was something she was used to - the two were always fighting. In the end, Raven won out, as she tended to when she really put her mind to it, and O could be heard in the back as she whined with irritation, high-pitched and brain-scrambling.

“You’ll never guess who I got off the phone with,” Raven intoned, clearly just ignoring her roomie. Clarke could practically hear her waggling her eyebrows. 

“Who?” The blonde paused for half a second, before realizing her almost-mistake. “And no, I will not play your stupid guessing game. Or hot or cold.”

She could hear Raven sigh and rustling on the other side, like hangers being shoved aside. “Fine. I was texting that guy I told you about at lunch, the one from my Psych class, Finn. Well, he heard about a party in one of the frat houses this weekend and was invited-- as long as he brought three girls with him. You know, ratios and all that.”

Clarke heaved another moan. This sounded painful already. 

“Hold on,” Raven urged. She could probably feel the pulse in Clarke’s fingers, the itch to click the ‘end call’ button before she got dragged into anything ridiculous. “Here’s the kicker. Turns out it’s Bellamy’s frat party.”

“The bastard didn’t fucking invite us,” Octavia yelled, loud enough to be heard by Clarke through the phone, not to mention all of her hallmates, surely.

“Wait, what?” Clarke asked, bewildered. Bellamy was almost as close a friend to her as Raven and Octavia were. The four of them had been near inseparable until he left for college two years before them. Even then, whenever he came back for breaks, it was like nothing had changed. Or so  _ Clarke _ had felt. 

“I know! What a jackass, right?” An exhale as Raven sat down. Clarke wondered absentmindedly if it was on the bed, the desk chair, or in the bean bag in the far corner of the room. “So naturally, O and I came up with the plan to crash it.”

Clarke’s eyes rolled on their own accord, but a smile had already started to play on the corners of her lips. “ _ Naturally _ .”

“Anyways. We need a third. So you’re in.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t. Get dressed, Griffin.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke hadn’t brought most of her wardrobe to school - she wouldn’t have had the room - but there were a few outfits that she packed specially with the knowledge that she’d be using the first couple weeks. Her favorite, though, was her black ruched dress, so tight that it took her what felt like _ages_ and a well cultivated action plan to shimmy into and out of it. Not that it was the most comfortable thing in the world - she’d much rather spend the night in jeans and a camisole if given the choice - but it made sure she was the center of attention wherever she went. Even if people weren’t necessarily flocking her,  she knew that when she was wearing the little thing, she had _everyone’s_ eyes on her. She could feel it from the moment she walked into a room. And the frat party was no different.

Bellamy was the first to catch sight of the three girls and their new ‘friend’ - who had obviously pre-gamed without them and was now already drunk as a _bitch_ \- and the look on his face said it all. Clearly, this was exactly what he’d been dreading. But as he marched towards them, undoubtedly getting ready to kick them out with the first string of obscenities clear as day on his mouth, he was interrupted by a tall, shirtless man with the prettiest smile - _and the tightest body_ \- Clarke had ever seen.

“Welcome!” The stranger enthused as he threw an arm a little haphazardly over Bellamy's shoulder, his eyes a little glossy. The beer in his hand was surely not his first. 

“What’s up?” Finn greeted, breaking through the threesome of women to clap the frat brother on the back. Clarke was unsure if they knew each other, or if they were just two of the friendlier people on campus. Considering how easily Finn had invited Raven and her friends - it was only Monday night after all, they'd known each other for less than twelve hours - Clarke wouldn’t doubt the latter. 

“Not much! You’re just in time! The table is set up for King’s and we have,” he paused as he counted them, his eyes settling momentarily on Octavia - _which Clarke wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t felt O’s entire demeanor shift at the first sight of the dude. Now she was practically vibrating at Clarke’s side, her smile so big that the blonde could see it in her peripheral. Hell, she probably could’ve seen it from outer space_ \- “four extra seats if you all are looking to join!” His body language was just as warm and open as his cheery voice and smile.

“I don’t think we’d be opposed, would we girls?” Raven answered, clearly seeing what Clarke was seeing as she grabbed Octavia’s arm. She started towards the room to the right of them, which seemed to be where most of the noise was coming from, dragging the smaller girl with her. On the way, Clarke caught sight of Raven's tongue pointed right in Bellamy’s direction. The shirtless stranger hadn’t caught it, or if he did, he paid it no mind as he followed them, Finn right behind him.

“Glad you could make it, Princess,” Bellamy stated with a heavy sigh, sarcasm thick on his tongue as he was clearly cutting his losses. The other women were already situated inside, and unless he wanted to physically remove them or - god forbid - start an argument with two of the loudest, most confrontational women they'd ever met, he was stuck having to accommodate them. Luckily for Clarke, she and Bellamy had always gotten along. In fact, Bellamy was the only reason the three young women had chosen the Arkadia in the first place. It had something for each of them, but more importantly, it had the ability to preserve their friendship. And whether or not Bell liked that, he had always been apart of it, and he always would.

“Could you not call me that?” She requested, rolling her eyes at the all too familiar nickname, a term Bellamy had coined 11 years earlier when Clarke had refused to give up her seat next to Octavia at O’s 8th birthday party. It was a moniker that had lasted a little too long, and had Clarke known it would’ve followed her to college, she would’ve shut it down a long time ago.

“You don’t hate it as much as you pretend to,” he said knowingly. And maybe he was right. Maybe it made her feel comforted, a little more at home.

“I still don’t want it to catch on.” She sauntered a little closer to him, watching the way his eyes made their way down her body. The electricity she felt as she moved towards him was nothing new. Much like the nickname he had given her, Bellamy had always been a comforting presence. So comforting, in fact, that once upon a time, she’d given him her everything. He’d been her first kiss, first boyfriend, first  _ time _ , and until he’d headed to school two years prior to her, she had even dreamt about them getting married and starting a life together.

Obviously, the distance had been a deal breaker. He hadn’t wanted to wait, and as much as she had wanted to blame him and feel bitter about it, she couldn’t hold her grudge for very long. She’d since forgiven him, just like she’d since come to terms with the fact that maybe he was right.

Still, the tension had never dissipated.

“So are you going to get me a drink or what?” She asked, breaking the silence because she’d rather be drunk and partying it up with her friends than reliving the past and reminiscing about what she could’ve had.

“What’s your poison?” He asked, though she could tell by the heaviness in his tone that his mind had been traveling down the same path hers had. She had known in her heart of hearts that they day they broke it off, he was every bit as hurt and as upset as she had been. They'd missed each other for two years, and even had chats in the earlier days about what it would take for them to get back together someday. But as the days had flown by, they'd slowly but surely moved on. And as sad as it was, she was sure they were both all the happier for it.

 

* * *

 

Okay, so maybe they hadn’t moved on entirely, but the way he hovered above her, she almost wished they had.

“It’s okay,” she told him, hoping the disappointment in her voice wasn’t too clear.

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” he stated for the third time, panic clear in his words.

Her hair was already moussed, the skin of her neck probably red and angry, but worst of all, there was an ache between her legs that wouldn’t leave her alone. And really, the last thing she wanted to do was go home and have to take care of herself while Maya was sleeping in the bed next to her.

“It’s okay,” she said again, though this time she could _definitely_ hear the disappointment. Maybe she could just take a shower and jerk off in there. Though, if she were walked in on by her suitemates, she’d never be able to show her face again.

Bellamy rolled off, flopping to the other side of the bed. Even in the dark, Clarke could make out the pained lines of his face. “It happens,” she told him, giving him a quick, hopefully comforting kiss on the cheek.

“It’s not you,” he told her, as if she didn’t already know. As if she hadn’t learned every single inch of his body, exactly what he liked and disliked, and exactly how to use it all to her advantage.

“I know.” 

They sat for a moment, their breathing finding a rhythm that Clarke knew so well. It had been her white noise for years, something that had always put her right to sleep. And she would’ve let it wash over her right then and there if not for that _itch_ that wouldn’t let her be. She debated on trying to ignore it for a moment, but she was made to quickly come to terms with the fact that it wasn't going to give her the choice. So she sat up.

“I’m going to head out. I think Finn took Rae home, but O is probably looking for me.”

“I dunno,” Bellamy answered, his speech slurred from the appalling amount of liquor he’d ingested. Clarke would’ve been worried for him if she’d not seen him do worse. “She seemed to be pretty into Lincoln.” He exhaled. "This is exactly why I didn't want her coming." He'd always been a little too protective of his independent little sister.

Clarke would’ve asked which one Lincoln was, but she already knew; the man who’d met them at the door. He and Octavia had been inseparable the entire night, which had ultimately given Clarke the perfect opportunity to sneak away. 

“Alright well, I’ll call her and see if she needs someone to walk her home. Just in case.” She didn't want to tack on the end of the sentence: just in case _she wasn't planning on spending the night with the boy she'd just met_. She didn't need to add anymore fuel to the fire that was surely already roiling in Bellamy's chest.

“And if she doesn’t?” She got the feeling he wanted her to stay, probably as some kind of distraction from his now racing thoughts, but was beating around the bush. Typical Bellamy; all zingers and sarcasm, but when it came to actually asking for something or showing a little bit of vulnerability, suddenly his lips failed him.

“Then I’ll text you tomorrow.” She found her dress and shimmied back into it, hearing the bedsheets swish as Bellamy sat up. Calloused fingers gently slid straps back up her shoulders and swept hair off of her neck. Lips pressed to the skin of her back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his breath - which smelt faintly of alcohol and a very heavy makeout session - danced across her shoulder, sending a shiver down her spine and regret clawing its way up her throat. Clarke stood, sighing as quietly as she could muster.

“I know. It’s okay. I’ll talk to you later,” she told him reassuringly as she slipped out the door, not giving him anymore time to try to convince her to stay.

She made her way down the descending staircase to where about half of the partygoers were still drinking away, their laughter hardly audible over the music that still blasted from the speakers. She peaked into the side room that they’d played Kings in, searching for her friend but finding no trace. 

Next she tried the backyard, the same area that they’d set up for beer pong, but to no avail - the entire area was dead, with only trails of plastic cups littering the grass as any notion that there had just been throngs of people there, only an hour before. 

She then bounced into the kitchen, which had been mostly abandoned, save for a single figure, one with a face that she remembered - if only barely - through her drunken haze. It was the girl she’d sat next to during the drinking games, the pretty one that had chatted her up and put her hand on her knee. The one that, had Clarke not been so preoccupied with Bellamy, she probably would’ve invited back home.

“Clarke, right?” The girl asked before Clarke could duck back out of the room and continue her search.

“Yeah. Hey, have you seen Octavia? She's the short, blue-eyed girl that I came here with.” The blonde - Nia? Nadia? Niagra? - shook her head thoughtfully before taking a long sip of whatever drink she had in her red solo cup. 

“I think she went upstairs with Lincoln. She invited me to play beer pong with them outside, but after I poured myself another drink, I went to look for her but they just disappeared.”

“Oh. Okay.” Clarke nodded, her head beginning to spin a little. She’d really rather be laying down with her head on a soft pillow. Preferably with someone holding her down through her dizzy spells.

“Are you heading home?” Clarke nodded. The girl smiled in return. “Me too. I could walk you if you wanted?” Clarke started to object, but she was interrupted. “I don’t know about you, but I could use the company.”

Clarke's lips moved before she could really think the decision through. “Sure. Yeah.” What could it hurt? She didn't have much to lose.

The blonde girl's smile was blinding as she sprung into action. “Great. Let me grab my coat.”

 

* * *

 

Insomnia was really nothing more than a pain in Lexa’s rear, but despite the fact that sleepless nights plagued her well into the day, fatiguing her to the point where she felt nothing more than a zombie most mornings, she couldn’t say that she didn’t enjoy the time alone.

Most evenings, she was provided with a sense of relief. It was the ability to think, to do as she pleased without fear of judgement, to be able to reflect and produce and feel without any pressure mounted on her shoulders to do so in a certain way, that made it all just a little more worthwhile. 

_ Most  _ evenings, though, after she moved to into her apartment, seemed to be very quickly becoming  _ few and far between _ evenings, as there hadn’t been a night yet that Lexa’s roommate had come home quietly. And granted, it was only Monday evening and the two had only been living together for six days, but much like many of the students attending Arkadia University, Niylah seemed intent on turning her time at the school into a blur of one-night stands and alcohol poisoning. And seeing that Lexa’s rent was being paid for by the state and she had already signed a housing agreement, there wasn’t much Lexa could do about it besides sit there each night and hope and wish and pray that sleep would come to provide her some peace.

Laying in her bed, she was thankful for the wall between her room and Niylah’s, even though it had proved thin as paper. At least she didn’t have to see her roommate undressing someone in the shadows, or pretend to be asleep while having to listen to the hushed sounds of hurried, drunken sex. Yes, she’d take a thin wall any day.

Still, it was hard to ignore the sounds the echoed through their shared apartment. The breathy moans and high-pitched whines pierced every attempt at distraction - they cut through her pillows, drowned out the television, even permeated through her earphones. She had learned on the third night that the only way to deal with Niylah and her friends was to muscle through - which up until that night had varied from 30 minutes to 3 hours - or to take the pills that had been prescribed to her years prior, the ones that she’d only taken six times before for fear of ending up exactly like her mother. 

But she was done muscling through, and with classes starting at 8:30 the next morning, she knew that another night without any kind of rest would leave her utterly defeated. So she made her way to the bathroom, popped open the orange vial, and dropped one of the blue capsules onto her tongue. She chased it with some water straight from the faucet before hobbling back to bed.

Twenty minutes later, she began to drift, her body loosening as she succumbed to sleep. But even as she entered a series of dreams, she couldn’t escape the haunting voice that only began to grow more and more familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can tell, i got very tired. i'm sorry that this chapter was all over the place, but this was mostly just kind of setting up dynamics, providing some backsplash on our lovely characters, and paving the way for our fave couple to Meet Again, as it were.  
> but anyways, i just wanted to say thank you thank you thank you to all of the positive feedback i've gotten so far! writing has been really tough for me lately, but this is a story i've been wanting to write for a little while now, so i appreciate the fact that there are people enjoying :) so thank u, next (chapter, that is)


	3. explosion

Perhaps 21 credits wasn’t the best idea, but Lexa would never admit to even _ thinking _ that. As a rule, she was a suspicious person, and therefore she felt it necessary to take as many classes as she could before the dean of students or someone from the government called her up to tell her they would no longer be supporting her. She knew, realistically, that that wasn’t the way scholarships and grants worked; she had earned her time here. She’d worked her ass off for a full-ride so she  _ wouldn't  _ have to worry about anything. But still, the doubt had been eating her alive since she got the news that she’d been accepted. Even now, it all seemed too good to be true, and she was determined to take as many courses, eat as many meals, and get as many straight A’s as possible. God forbid something horrible happened and she was left on her ass, but if it ever did, at least she’d have a good transcript to show for it. She didn’t want her whole future taken away just because her mother had chosen narcotics over her and some nosy neighbor had to go run and tell the cops.

Still, seven courses - how she’d convinced the school to let her take that many her first semester, she’d never be sure \- wasn’t easy for anyone, but she took comfort in that they were all entry level, and she was sure that if she allotted her time correctly, she wouldn’t fall behind in anything. She’d just have to keep her eyes on the prize.

Of course, it was all just that much more difficult with a roommate like hers.

Lexa had just finished her second class of the day, and had a carefully selected three hour lunch break - enough time to go home, take a nap on a good day or  _ study study study cram cram cram _ on a bad day, maybe even grab a bite to eat, before her last class in the early afternoon. Today, since it was still the beginning of the semester, counted as a good day. And rather than needing a nap, she had a calendar she wanted to get set up. 

She expected to able to walk into  _ her _ apartment, unload  _ her  _ things in  _ her _ living room, and be able to use  _ her _ toilet in  _ her _ bathroom where she kept  _ her _ toilet paper and  _ her _ soap and  _ her things _ . Not to walk in on some very clearly hungover teenager who stunk of sex. But college was full of surprises, wasn’t it?

Lexa’s pants were unbuttoned and nearly halfway down her hips as she scurried towards the bathroom door, flicking the lights on; but her heart almost gave out as she came face to face with a mop of blonde hair that, due to the hunched over nature of the person, was practically skimming the tiled floor. The girl was all pale arms and creamy legs, only wearing what looked to be a black strapless bra and dark, lacy panties that hung around her ankles.

“Oh!” Lexa yelped, startled. Her hands were unsure of which way to go-- down to button her pants, back to flip the switch off again, up to cover her eyes or her mouth? In her confusion and panic, one instead fluttered uselessly by her side while the other rammed up into her cheek - surely leaving a red mark, if not the beginnings of a bruise - as her eyes bounced from the girl on the toilet to the ceiling, to the floor, to the window, and back to the girl. “I’m sorry!”

The blonde on the toilet peeked out from under her hair, her eyes screwed mostly shut as she tried to look at Lexa through the obviously blinding light, and gave a grumble. Not that it was anything intelligible. She was clearly still off from the night before.  _ Clearly _ .

Lexa stood there for a moment, debating. On the one hand, she really had to pee. On the other, what was she going to do? Wrestle the stranger from the toilet? _ Her  _ toilet?

It was only as her initial panic began to settle, though, and her eyes began to really take in what she was seeing rather than just sending red alert to her brain, that she realized… she recognized the woman. It was the same girl from her English class. And just like that, Lexa forgot her need to pee.

She was halfway out the door when she heard Niylah call to her from her bedroom, but that didn’t stop her. Nothing stopped her, marching forward, until she was safely harbored in the library, quickly grabbing the first book she saw and opening it, trying to force the words into her head in order to forget the voice from her dreams the night before. The same voice of the girl on the toilet. The same voice that had thrown her from her concentration on the first day.

She stared at the page for longer than five minutes before closing the book, knowing that she likely would never get past the first sentence while her thoughts were so scattered. Lexa should’ve known the blonde would’ve ended up following her around, haunting her. She was exactly the kind of person Lexa had been trying to avoid here, so of  _ course _ she would end up being stuck with her. She was cursed, always had been. So it only made sense, didn’t it? 

 

* * *

 

Clarke had been a sweaty, disgusting mess when she’d woken up, not exactly remembering where she was or how she’d gotten there. But at least she hadn’t puked.  _ There was always an upside. _

As she began to stir, she slowly became grossly aware of a warm body laying next to her and a heavy arm thrown over her waist. Judging by the sticky feeling between her thighs, the way she smelt, and the taste still lingering in her mouth, she could tell she’d had fun the night before. And from the latter especially, she knew the arm around her belonged to a woman. But aside from that, she couldn’t remember much of what happened at all. 

She reached over, grimacing at the way the hand tightened against the skin of her stomach, to pick up her phone for the time and hoping against hope that she hadn’t missed her classes - because she knew _ full well  _ she hadn’t remember to set her alarm the night before. Her prayers were quickly shot, however, and she could do nothing but heave a long, slow sigh as she tried to ignore notifications of the many missed phone calls and text messages from her friends and caught sight of the time. 11:39. She’d missed Calculus  _ and _ her Biology lecture - two handleable classes, surely, but still extremely important. But what could she do about it now?

Her eyes rolled back into her head as she massaged her temples, trying to ignore the frustration that swelled up inside of her. She hadn’t even wanted to go out the night before, but of course she was paying the price for saying yes anyway. Not that this was any different than how she’d spent almost every night between now and the beginning of her Junior year of high school. 

She tried to pushed through the irritation she felt, and let her mind drift back to the matter at hand. The arm around her. Clarke had  _ roughly _ the rest of her day since she’d slept through her morning schedule. And though  _ the rest of her day _ was a good block of time, and she realistically wasn’t in any hurry whatsoever, she was very quickly becoming anxious to leave the bed. The woman behind her was probably -  _ hopefully _ \- a stranger, and she could save them both a whole lot of awkward goodbyes if she gathered her things and walked home now while the other was still sleeping. Not to mention, she could use a good shower. But as any One-Night-Stander-Vet knew, it wasn’t the slipping out the door that was difficult. It was instead, the slipping out from under the naked body and out of the bed.

Luckily for her, the soft and even snoring was still going strong despite Clarke’s own stirring. So she tested the waters by shuffling towards her edge of the double bed, her heart squeezing excitedly as the limp arm began to slip over and off of her. Clarke continued to shimmy forward, taking a few seconds in between each movement as not to shock the other awake, before sticking one leg out from beneath the tangled sheets, followed by the other. The chill of the room distracted her momentarily as goosebumps ran up her calves to her thighs; it was the deep breath beside her that snapped her back into focus, and the withdrawal of the arm altogether.

Clarke laid as still as possible for a couple moments, her heart hammering inside of her chest, before the gentle breathing resumed. Then she finally slipped from the prison of the white sheets.

As she tiptoed towards the door, her head beginning to pound more and more with every single step she took, she grabbed her black lace thong from the floor and tugged her bra back down over her tits; taking a peek out, she listened intently for any kind of movement in the space she was in -  _ definitely not just a dorm room. Probably an on-campus apartment, unless this woman had led her somewhere off campus. She wouldn’t be sure until she left the building _ \- but heard nothing. After a few moments, she decided it was safe enough to venture out.

Luckily enough, the door to the bathroom had been left open, and she wouldn’t have to go snooping to find the toilet. 

First, she made a beeline for the medicine cabinet, in search of any relief she might find there. As she pulled the mirror door open, her eyes caught sight of exactly what she sought-- extra strength Tylenol. She quickly poured four of the little capsules into her hand - she could care less about the state of her liver; she’d much rather take care of her head at the moment - and twisted the knob connected to the right of the faucet, ducking down to press her lips to the stream. It hurt to stand like that, every single muscle in her body aching, but the way the water seemed to cool the dryness of her throat and rid her of the taste in her mouth was enough to keep her going, even if the way it sloshed in her stomach made her feel a bit queasy. 

Once her thirst had been quenched, at least for the most part, Clarke teetered over to the toilet, pushed her panties down, and perched as gently as she could until all of her muscles began to relax. She slowly felt herself beginning to hunch over, still exhausted from the night before, pulsating pains crashing through her body like waves as she attempted to let the movement-induced nausea subside.

She’d probably only been sitting there for a couple minutes - as sleepy as she was, it had felt like hours of trying to keep her eyes open only for them to begin to flutter shut the second she let her guard down - when the door had flown open. It was the loud, uninhibited scream followed by the rising pitch of a person in the midst of panic that pained Clarke; not any kind of embarrassment or guilt she felt at being caught half -  _ mostly _ \- naked in some stranger’s bathroom.

She tried to swivel her head in the direction of the door to give a smile or a nod or  _ something _ , if only to let this stranger know that she was not dead, but all she could manage was a sharp inhale as a pang shot through her, and a ‘sorry’ that she was sure was probably next to inaudible. She attempted to open her eyes to take a look at the girl in the doorway, but opening her eyes any more than a slit was a bad idea as another jolt of searing pain ripped through her brain.

Clarke wasn’t sure how long it was that the woman stood there, but it felt like ages before she finally turned on her feet and left the bathroom. Through mostly-closed eyes, she could see the nude t-strap Mary Jane flats disappear, and in the other room, a door opened and shut, just as another voice called out.

“ _ Fuck _ .” That was her cue to skedaddle.

 

* * *

 

Clarke had made it out by the skin of her teeth, as the other woman - Nadia was the name she had decided on, despite knowing that it still wasn’t  _ quite _ right - had been naked and still in bed when the screaming roommate had woken her up, giving Clarke just enough time to make a run for it.

Upon leaving the building, it was only a five minute walk to her dorm, which, really, wasn’t half as bad as she would’ve expected considering how big the campus was and how spread out the dorms were. She was able to skirt around the outside of campus and mostly avoid running into anyone who could shame her for her obvious walk of shame. 

Now she sat on her bed, hair toweled and robe tied tightly around her body as Maya buzzed around the room, putting her freshly washed clothes away, cheery as ever.

From what Clarke had gathered, Maya Vie had been some Jesus-freak shut-in before heading to college. This was her second year and according to the dark-haired girl, she was absolutely thriving while working towards her nursing career. Not that Clarke had listened very well to next to anything the girl had said. God knew she prattled on; it was next to impossible to listen to the sickeningly sweet, mind-numbing one-sided conversations she had with herself. It was like it never stopped.

“You have to be careful though; the professors may be used to students who are too hungover to show up to class, but that also means a lot of them count attendance and add it into your final grade,” she warned, having noted Clarke’s late return to the room. Surprisingly, though, Maya didn’t seem to be already tired of Clarke’s antics, and there wasn’t an ounce of malice on her face nor an underlying tone of upset to her voice. She was genuinely looking out for Clarke. It was too bad Clarke didn’t care to hear it.

“Mhm,” the fairer girl replied, staring off into space. She felt better after taking the pain relievers, and after getting home and taking a prompt hour-long nap followed by a hot shower. In fact, she was almost tempted to crawl back into the warm comfort of her bed, but she knew she had things to finish before her head met the pillow again.

“You don’t have to listen to me, but I know you have Byrne and Dr. Singh. I didn’t have Byrne, but I hear she can be a stickler for the rules, and I don’t know if you’ve been to your Singh class yet, but she’s a  _ total _ hardass. I mean it.”

“Gotcha,” Clarke responded noncommittally. She hadn’t yet had Dr. Singh, the professor for her Bio lecture and lab, but she knew herself and she had confidence that one missed class wouldn’t put her behind. Besides, she’d had a reasonable excuse: nausea and a headache. Who could blame her for staying home for that?

Maya could probably tell that Clarke wasn’t paying any attention - not that Clarke was trying to hide it  _ at all _ \- and didn’t bother to make another comment until she had finished the pile of jeans she’d been working on. “Were you planning on getting lunch?”

“I was going to stop by a vending machine since Raven’s meeting up with Finn and Bellamy took O to Sharkey’s.” She finally looked at Maya, and the moment their eyes met, she could see the dark-haired girl shrink back a little, her smile faltering.

“Oh, I meant… nevermind. What time is your next class?”

Clarke pushed herself back onto her bed, swinging her feet back and forth a little as she grabbed for her phone, sighing at the lack of notifications. She couldn’t believe she had three best friends on campus and still no one to get lunch with. How lame.

“I’m not supposed to have any more classes today, but I was thinking about heading to student services and seeing if I can sign up late for that art appreciation class.” It was one of her CORE requirements to do an art or music appreciation class, but she’d been saving it for the next semester as something to look forward to. But as the past two days had gone, she was beginning to wonder if she’d be able to make to the next semester without something to keep her going.

Maya nodded thoughtfully, her face slowly beginning to light up again. “Well, I was going to stop by the Polis building for lunch, which is right across the main square from student services if you wanted to grab something afterwards?”

Clarke looked down at her phone again, willing a notification to pop up, but nothing did. She rolled her eyes internally before glancing back at Maya’s expectant face. “Yeah, alright.”

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, there was one art appreciation class that still had seats left; in fact, it was the same one that almost every single review on RateMyProfessors had warned against. 

It didn’t take Clarke longer than three seconds to sign her name on the dotted line.

An hour later, the freshly rejuvenated girl was hopping across campus, feeling happy for the first time since getting to Arkadia University. Despite the reviews on the universally loved site, she knew this was the one class she’d be able to kick ass in. Art had always been her calling, and had it not been for her mother’s  _ persistence _ and the Griffin family’s background in medicine, it would’ve been the one thing she could easily - happily - dedicate her entire existence to.

She’d just have to charm Professor Wallace into believing in her the way she believed in herself.

She strolled into the small, dimly lit room fifteen minutes early just as the last class was packing up to go, something she’d never done in her entire school career - though she couldn’t say that her punctuality wasn’t directly due to the fact that she’d already been dressed, fed, and walking around campus - and eagerly placed herself in the third row close enough to the front that she could be in on the action without breathing down the professor’s neck.

There she sat, making herself at home fielding texts from Raven and Octavia and waiting for the fun to begin.

Other students began waltzing in a few minutes later, each quick to grab seats in their desired area. Most filed into the way back of the classroom, a handful daring to sit a little closer. Not that Clarke was paying much attention; she was too busy lining her pens and pencils up and flipping to a new page of her notebook.

She was only shaken from her train of thought when she heard the unmistakable sound of a throat being cleared. She glanced up, mouth slightly agape with shock and eyes probably alight with the hope that she’d been mistaken in assuming it was for her rather than someone else. But when she caught sight of the face in the row in front of her, forest green eyes staring her down, that hope was quickly extinguished.

It was the same girl from her English class, the one with the glossy hair and bad attitude.

“I believe that’s my pencil,” the brunette said, and despite the glare on her face, Clarke could see her swallow thickly. 

Clarke looked down at the pink mechanical pencil, and her heart sank as she realized the other woman was right. She must’ve taken it with her without remembering.

“Oh, sorry.” She picked it up, and handed it back to the chick, feeling her face fall and her heart stutter. Her ENG100 seat buddy was never going to trust her again. And not only that, but she’d grown all too used to using the mechanical pencil - having to return to a wooden #2 or one of those stoppy, almost always bleeding, super cheap pens was going to be  _ awful _ .

The girl sat down in the row in front of Clarke, a seat to her right, and turned her eyes to the screen that was being set up by a goofy looking kid that had a pair of goggles strapped to his head. Clarke thought absently that he looked familiar, but couldn’t dwell on it for too long because her mind - and eyes - had already returned to the girl in front of her.

She sat there for a moment, tapping agitatedly against her desk before her mouth got the best of her. As it did. 

“Have you read the reviews on this class?” She asked, just loud enough to make sure she could be heard.

It took a moment, but slowly the girl turned around to give her a look. Those green eyes were going to be the death of Clarke. “Excuse me?”

“Like… on RateMyProfessors.”

“No. I haven’t.”

Clarke sat back a little, making herself just a tad more comfortable if only outwardly. Her heart was still thrumming with anxiety, and her hands were getting a little clammy. “Apparently he’s got shit for reviews. Complete hardass.” 

The brunette looked like she wanted to roll her eyes. She took a breath, looking like she was trying to center herself. “If I had to teach a bunch of lazy young adults a general education requirement, I would be too. I can only imagine the kind of work he has to put in to get his students to do the simplest of tasks. If you were to ask me, they could completely cut the arts section of general education, and everyone would be a lot happier.” She said it like it was final. Full stop. Period. Clarke was almost too shocked by the decisiveness of it to process it.

“What?”

The brunette, clearly unimpressed, took Clarke’s glare like a champ. “It’s a ridiculous notion that a Political Science major would ever have to identify the different styles of Picasso and Monet outside of his first year of college. What would he, or a Chemistry major or an English major or even a Music major need it for out in the real world?”

“It’s called Art  _ Appreciation _ ; it’s meant to teach  _ stuck-up snobs _ the purpose and importance of art throughout history, the way it impacts our present, and how it will carry on into the future.” The feeling bubbling up inside of her felt a whole lot like indignancy, but Clarke felt much better expressing that through anger. Not that anger made her case any more or less convincing, but whatever. “It’s important to anyone who lives in our world, because not only is creativity part of our very nature as humans, but art is also important for social commentary, nearly any kind of entertainment, and even healing purposes, which has everything to do with politics, literature, music, and science.”

Growing up with Octavia, Bellamy, and Raven, Clarke had learned to prepare herself for some kind of back and forth, as all four of them had big mouths and liked to have the final word. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the way the girl stared her down, clearly having listened to everything Clarke had said, her jaw set and her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. And had Clarke not been staring so intently, she probably wouldn’t have been able to notice the miniscule change in the way the jade eyes watched her.

Before either could open their mouth to continue the conversation, however, the lights of the room began to dim and an elderly gentleman walked forward, addressing the classroom. The room stirred as students settled into their seats, getting ready for what was to be a fairly boring, very routine syllabus lecture. The girl watched Clarke silently for a moment more, before turning in her own seat to face forward.

Clarke could feel something welling up inside of her, and a smug smile lit her face. Pride. Contentment. Enough bubbly joy that she couldn’t leave it without flaunting, just a little.

“I’m Clarke by the way.” The girl stayed facing forward, and Clarke watched as she picked up a pen and started copying the words on the projector screen. Clarke figured that after her telling-off, she probably wouldn’t get an answer.

Her delight only doubled when she did. “I’m Lexa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i told myself i was going to be posting every tuesday, but obviously that didn't happen cause life got nutso. but this chapter is quite a bit longer to make up for it! also, let me just reiterate that this isn't going to be realistic in all aspects, because uh.. i have no idea what being pre-med entails despite doing my research (thanks becky my love), i doubt a school would let any student take 21 credits unless it was a super special circumstance, and also i've not been enrolled in college for going on four years so if i get something wrong, please don't hate me!!! 
> 
> anyways, thank you guys again for everything! i super appreciate that you're taking the time to read; let me know if you like this chapter with a comment or a kudos~


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